


My Baby Takes the Morning Train

by Alex_Rogers_Stark



Series: My Baby Takes the Morning Train [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Office, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky is an ass (but like in a good way), But mainly it'll just be little snapshots, Crush at First Sight, Cute, Elevator Meetings, Elevators, Eye Tag, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Series might get plotty if you squint, Smitten Steve, Smitten Steve Rogers, Steve is smitten, Sweet, Tony Stark is adorbs, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Steve Rogers, Younger Tony, but not too much, but so is Steve, mostly just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Rogers_Stark/pseuds/Alex_Rogers_Stark
Summary: As he said his name, Steve saw the reel begin. What could be an entire lifetime flashed before his eyes. He wanted to laugh; ever the hopeful romantic, his mom and Bucky had always said, but there was a realness to this strong pull tugging him towards the man a few meager feet in front of him. Could see the flashes of a life he didn’t have but longed for more than anything.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: My Baby Takes the Morning Train [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711444
Comments: 28
Kudos: 177





	My Baby Takes the Morning Train

Steve tightened his hand around the cool, metal bar as the elevator gave a lurch that might’ve been all in his head before speeding upwards, reaching for the skies like the ending of Willy Wonka. It made him dizzy. His stomach felt like it had been left on the ground floor, churning in gravity’s vice-like grip. He swore he could hear the whirring of air rushing past them right outside the metal casing, but that was impossible.

His eyes darted toward the buttons, all ninety-three of them, before skimming up to watch the red, digital letters tick off the passing floors like the lightning round at the end of a game. Steve swallowed, sucking in as deep a breath he could to encourage his heart to slow down.

He and machines had never gotten along so well. His mom always used to joke that he could break anything running on electricity with a single, dour look. It was frustrating, the way these things never seemed to be able to work right, but every time he tried to make them work at all, bend their will to his own, they snapped. Or he may have snapped them. Rubbing circles into his temple with his fingers, Steve sighed. He couldn’t tell anymore.

Reaching back behind him, he held onto the bar with both hands and thought his grip might be tight enough to mold his very handprint into the hollowed-out metal. His ma would’ve rolled her eyes at that, and Steve felt the familiar tick of a bittersweet smile at the corners of his mouth. She’d been right; you wore an expression for a long enough time, and it had a tendency to get stuck there.

To his left, Steve heard Bucky begin to shuffle his weight, the scrit-scratching of his shoe on the Berber carpet like the sound of a car gearing up and revving its engine.

A tenseness he never let go of these days began to ascend his spine, making its way to his shoulders, and he shot a furtive glance to his right.

The young man had settled in beside Steve right as the doors had been closing. Well, more like slid through a slit the size of a door gap while shooting a glare towards the reflective ceiling like it had personally offended him. He hadn’t so much as given them a cursory glance as he’d hunkered next to Steve, staring down at a model of the Stark Phone Steve had never seen before like it held the answers to life’s most burning questions.

Steve’s eyes began to roam over the man, curiosity spiking in his gut even though it still hadn’t quite caught up to them yet. His nose was a mere inch away from making direct contact with the screen, and a rectangular, white reflection shone in the curve of his large, rounded glasses. Brown eyes shimmered like citrines, wild and excited beneath the frames lining them. There was a wildness in the twists of the man’s dark hair that Steve would’ve thought black had the lights not tinged the ends an earthen brown.

He found himself wanting to capture those wild wisps on a canvas and blinked. It was a desire he hadn’t had in a long time.

His eyes trailed farther down, following the lines of a round, narrowing jawline that somehow managed to have sharp edges at every stop and turn. The man’s soft chin was covered with fine speckles of hair, a precise Van Dyke goatee bringing definition to wicked sharp lips.

Bucky coughed a quiet huff of a breath into the air around them making Steve jump as he realized he was staring, or rather, openly gaping at their companion. Glancing away, he caught the soft whiff of cherries circling his nose from the man’s direction, and Steve looked over again. He couldn’t help himself. He was captivating; a good distraction if not one of the best.

He and Bucky had been lucky enough to get the interviews from one of his mom’s old co-workers. He’d come to the funeral and given Steve peonies that made him think of the sunsets she used to enjoy. Steve hadn’t remembered the gentleman’s name, not after his tour, and guilt flickered in the back of his mind.

Shame lingered on the tip of his tongue, and he found he had forgotten the man’s name again after their brief Facebook rendezvous. What was worse was knowing that his flailing desperation had been so etched into every crevice of his life that a man he no longer spoke to had seen him struggling a mile away. But as much as Steve hated taking handouts, the man hadn’t been wrong.

Still. Stark Industries.

He couldn’t turn his nose up at such an offer; couldn’t afford to. Neither him nor Bucky. Not after Bucky had been honorably-discharged and given a small wad of gauze to patch up what was left of his bleeding stump and a prosthetic arm that was, at the end of the day, a fancy looking heap of junk. Not long after med bay had diagnosed Steve with a long list of “worrisome behaviors” – their words, not his – that pointed to things like PTSD and depression, his generals had deemed him unfit for service.

As if it had been that that made them want to drive him out, Steve thought, feeling his jaw tick in protest as he smashed his teeth together.

The only things that had been there to greet him when he’d come home were the screams of ghosts that echoed around the inside of his skull late at night, lasting so long that lines began to blur, and soon Steve couldn’t tell if the screams belonged to him or them. That and a pile of bills thicker than his forearm.

Sometimes, he could still smell the fine dirt coating the insides of his nostrils and the outside of his skin. So thick, they were like a clay casing, trapping his body in a mold of what it once was. Or maybe it had been an extra layer of armor. A useless armor against the gut-wrenching scent of burning skin and the sight of charred flesh on men who were still alive, not yet close enough to the verge of death to make Steve believe God had the capability of having a single merciful thought. Not anymore.

It’d been a surprise; they had no way of knowing about the incoming bomb. It hadn’t been his fault. That’s what Bucky kept telling him, anyway. The investigations, the hard-hitting interrogations, had a knack of making Steve think otherwise. “How did you manage to be the one person to come back alive?” they wanted to know.

So did he.

Steve took another deep breath in, counting to ten like the therapists had told him to do.

Cherries.

He glanced back to his right. Bucky had made some comment under his breath a moment ago about the man’s choice of attire; he’d added on some tacky line about “kids these days,” and “getting old and going downhill.” Steve smiled and rolled his eyes. The man couldn’t be younger than twenty, and he and Bucky were twenty-five.

Sure, the outfit wasn’t the most professional of choices, but that didn’t mean Steve didn’t appreciate it.

He wore a sleek button up shirt surging with golds and reds, buttons parting all the way down the man’s chest to then join back together just above his navel. The shirt was hanging open enough for Steve to catch a glimpse of a gorgeous, lithe frame and a hint of the slight, angry mottling of red, puffed up skin at the center of his chest. Like the man had been gouged and burned by something very large.

Steve wanted to reach forward and run his fingertips over it; find the ridges where the scar ended. He craved to know if there was a way to soothe the skin there and make any lasting pain go away.

He couldn’t help but admire the bravery this man had to have to be able to show something so personal like it was a medal to be proud of. Steve thought it was.

Lord knew Steve didn’t have the guts to do that himself. There were thirty-eight missed calls contained in a little red bubble on his phone from a litany of doctors, pharmacists, and therapists reminding him to make appointments and pick up medications he couldn’t afford and that Bucky knew nothing about.

The front of the man’s shirt was a neat tuck into a tight pair of black skinny jeans that left very little to Steve’ imagination, hugging the luscious curves of his hips and cheeks that looked like they’d been chiseled by Alexandros of Antioch’s very own hand. His thighs and calves were all sharpened curves of lean muscle, and the man’s pants were folded up at his ankles. The end of his fibula and tibia were a sharp, defining jut beneath tanned, olive skin before they disappeared into bright, white Oxfords.

Something burned into the side of Steve’s face, and he stuttered his eyes up to find the man staring back at him, phone having gone dark in his hands. Steve felt heat threaten to take over his entire face and forced it back. In a miracle of all miracles, despite Steve’s obvious and invasive checking-out of the man’s everything, he gave Steve a hesitant smile.

His heart hammered against his sternum, but Steve returned the smile before averting his eyes not a second later. The doe-eyed look beneath long, sinuous lashes was brighter than the sun, and Steve swore he’d get burned if he looked too long.

Bucky shifted again, and Steve shot him a reproachful look. A warning he knew Bucky wouldn’t listen to. But, well, insanity and all that. A bored Bucky had never been good, and the returning mischievous smirk he got back was evidence enough that Steve should start worrying right about now.

He shuffled himself a little closer to the man, making a covert attempt to put his body between his and Bucky’s.

The man glanced up again and caught Steve’s eye. Steve’s mouth curled into a soft grin as he dipped his head to the ground to stare at his shoes. God. They weren’t even close to being as nice as the Oxfords. He frowned at one particular scuff over the faux-leather covering his big toe. From the corner of his eye, Steve thought he caught the man returning his smile, and something Steve couldn’t place lurking behind those amber eyes.

Steve felt his gaze like a physical branding, leaving his skin hot and twitchy; it was like the caress of a breathy touch from calloused fingertips, and Steve had the wild thought of asking the man if he played violin or guitar. He could see the way the skin around his boney fingertips was raised and hardened at the ends, and Steve wondered what caused those callouses. The question seemed important for no other reason than he was desperate to know.

Tilting his head back up, their eyes snapped to one another’s. This time, Steve could make something akin to confusion swimming through flecks of deep greens and golds. He got the distinct impression that he was being asked some silent question, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Sending another shy grin the man’s way, Steve looked back down because the carpet was very interesting with its blue and black pattern and whatnot. It was fascinating.

Bucky cleared his throat, and Steve had to close his eyes and pull in more slow, deep breaths. The scent of cherries calmed through his veins. He wanted to give the man some kind of warning, but Steve was pretty sure saying, “Sorry that my friend is about to make the rest of this elevator ride miserable and uncomfortable for the both of us because he’s bored,” was grounds for ending whatever it was they were doing with their game of eye-tag.

Steve decided he really, really didn’t want that to happen.

Raising his chin, he watched the man zero his focus in on Steve. An unsure quirk crossed those pretty, deep pink lips, and there was a quality to it that made it look a verge of startled. Like he wasn’t used to this kind of thing, which Steve couldn’t believe. The man was breathtaking.

Steve sent him a sheepish grin, realizing it was the only warning he was able – or willing – to risk. Tomato tamato.

“So,” Bucky spoke up as he leaned around Steve’s own bulk to look at the man. “Who are you?” There was an odd undercurrent to his words that came about when Bucky sensed Steve liked the fella he was talking to. It was a nightmare he kept looking back on to see where he’d made the wrong turn that made him so transparent to Bucky’s eyes.

The man blinked, eyes going rounder a minute fraction, and there was a sudden upturn to his mouth that seemed bemused somehow. Steve felt his knees go weak.

Tilting his head, the man looked to Steve for a moment before glancing toward Bucky. “You don’t know?” he asked.

The question was a pompous and rude one that would have set Steve on edge any other time, but the way the man said it, like he was genuinely curious, made Steve dart another intrigued look toward him.

Steve shook his head, and Bucky let out a grunt that implied his unimpressed stature very well.

“Sorry,” Steve said, shooting Bucky a stern glare. Why couldn’t he just play nice? On today of all days, too. “Are we- um, should we? Know you, that is. Should we know you? It’s- I, uh, sorry. It’s our first day here.”

He wanted to smack himself in the face.

The man turned back toward Steve, eyes searching his. He thought he was able to make out something hesitant but hopeful in the look, but Steve had been wrong about worse things before. His mom had always said he was one of the densest people she’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Steve’s skin heated even more, and he knew the blush had to be covering the back of his neck by now. He reached up, rubbing at it. Always so conspicuous, his mind supplied in a voice that sounded like his ma, making Steve’s heart contract.

Clearing his throat, he looked up at the man despite the half a foot Steve had on him. “Sorry,” he murmured, voice quiet in the cool air around them.

The man shifted from foot to foot, arm crossing in front of him in a V as he stared up at Steve with wide eyes, one hand clasping the wrist of the other. He moved to mimic Steve’s posture, one hand reaching up to rest on the back of his neck. Steve wondered if he’d realized he’d done that, but a moment later, he seemed to, pulling his hand away and letting it land on his thigh with a gentle smack.

“No no,” he said, voice a soft cotton. He glanced away only to look back a second later. “It was a-a dumb question to ask anyway. Shouldn’t’ve…” He shook his head, taking his plump bottom lip between his teeth and looking down and away.

Steve opened his mouth to say something that he wanted to follow the lines of suave and reassuring when Bucky cut in. “You some bigshot?” he asked, avoiding Steve’s well-aimed elbow shot to his torso.

The man’s gaze lifted to Bucky’s, and Steve wanted to turn around and glower at him.

He seemed to eye Bucky with curiosity, too, roving over Bucky’s body with quick, darting movements. “I suppose that would be up to whom you ask. Are you some bigshot?” he retorted, tone low and smooth like silken sheets.

“Went to Columbia University and graduated at the top of our class,” Bucky said, a hint of pride that was innocent enough. “Joined the army, did a couple’a tours. How ‘bout you? Where’d you go to school? Are you still in school? You look a little young to be working for Stark Industries.”

Steve looked over his shoulder with a hard gaze and mouthed, “Stop it,” to Bucky. Jeez. It had been a few glances; there was no reason to cross-examine the guy. Steve was more than capable of handling himself by now.

Turning back, he caught the man’s eyes flicker to his for a second. The look was similar to all the one’s he’d received whenever he mentioned he was a veteran. A mixture of pride and respect and honor Steve never felt he deserved. But this look was also different in a gaping, vast sort of way he couldn’t place his finger on. This look didn’t make Steve squirm in discomfort, and he felt a sense of pride wash over him. He supposed this was what he was supposed to feel; he liked the look in those eyes. It made him proud to be the one that got to put it there.

“I went to a private school out of state,” the man said, looking back to Bucky. “I doubt you’ve heard of it.” A thrill shot through Steve’s spine when he saw the man’s lean fingers twist into a cross behind his back, painted black fingernails gleaming in the fluorescent lighting shining against the titanium walls. One of the most real smiles he’d felt since coming back to the States threatened to overcome Steve’s lips. It was like he was in on a private joke with this complete stranger, and he was aware, in a sudden instant, that this man had no problem playing the game Bucky had set up for them.

“And you’re right. I don’t, well, in the light of being honest, I don’t exactly work for S.I.,” he said, phrasing it like it was an admittance.

Steve let the tenseness seep from his shoulders. Whoever this man was, Steve could tell he had what it took to deal with Bucky. Steve even suspected he might just come out on top.

It’d be nice, Steve thought, a scant wistful. Bucky always had this tendency to get them into trouble with the combination of his mouth and his boredom. He never meant anything by it, and by the end of most of his escapades, Bucky had won himself two black eyes and three new friends.

His mind flashed back to the crouched posture and inability to walk after Bucky had first spoken to Natasha. Now the two were inseparable – Bucky was even starting to look at rings. But Bucky had this way about him, and part of Steve thought it a sparse unfair. Bucky could make friends with anyone at any time. He was the life of the party; an expert on playing his cards to the exact point that would keep them out of just enough trouble.

There was visible amusement in the man’s posture as he folded his arms and squinted up at Bucky. Steve worked hard to keep the laughter building in his chest from bubbling up and out of his throat. The upward arch of the man’s spine as he moved again to place his hands on his hips, a narrowed, challenging look in his face that made Steve think of an animal analyzing its prey before pouncing; he thought Natasha would adore him. The man looked like he was gearing up to chastise a messy child, and he wouldn’t be wrong.

Maybe he’s just as bored as Bucky, Steve thought.

“So what are you doing here, kid?” Bucky asked, looking smug as his eyes went wide. As if his curiosity were legitimate.

Around him, Steve heard the whirring of the elevator come to a stall. It slowed and came to a stop. The light above the doors blinked once, twice above the red numbers of twenty-three. The doors opened, and both Bucky and the man looked towards them. Choruses of amused chatter reached Steve’s ears, and Bucky began to step out. Steve followed, glancing at the man while he passed. Those impossibly large eyes beamed up at him. Steve felt like he had to be beaming back like an absolute loon.

When they stepped off, Bucky looked back towards the man with a raised brow. Steve twitched at the sound of the noise coming to a bar. Everyone’s heads raised and pointed towards them.

Following their lead, he glanced back, watching the man strut out, raising his head like a cat prancing about. He skipped past them, giving Bucky a saccharine smirk.

“Good morning, everyone!” he greeted, a cheerful tenor lighting up his voice. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what I’m doing down here in the design team’s department, but I’ve been told by our lovely Mr. Stane that I need to work on my ‘human resource skills,’” he said, and the air quotes around that line showed what he thought of that. “Thus today’s introduction of our two newest members to Stark Industry’s Graphic Design Department.”

Curiosity piqued through Steve’s mind the more the man talked, shock beginning to course through him as he put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Whirling around on his heel, the man held out his hand towards Bucky. “This is…” he paused, waiting.

“Uh,” Bucky said, shooting Steve a confused look.

But Steve got it, and the man did look familiar now that he thought about it. He could see the headlines flash before his eyes that described the deaths of Howard Stark and his wife, and the picture of a young boy trying to grieve his parents in peace taunting across every news station. Could hear the other soldiers’ outrage in their rantings when they were told that the now young man had put a stop to his father’s company’s weapons manufacturing after being presumed dead for three months. Could feel the pride and admiration for that decision when a Stark bomb came barreling right towards the Howling Commandos.

Because this was Tony Stark. This was the kid who’d grown up in the spotlight. The one Steve used to judge off bits and scraps from word of mouth when he was younger. Until his mom had chastised him on the crudeness that came with his unwillingness to find understanding and empathy for someone he knew nothing about. The one who Steve had begun to admire for his bravery and generosity and genius as he grew up. Tony Stark was the man Steve used to hope would end up okay and pray for when he believed in a merciful God. Because Steve had thought he’d understood, then. Just a bit.

“James Buchannan Barnes,” Bucky finished, looking back towards Mr. Stark. The man who’d asked, “You don’t know?”

Jesus, they were in his building. They were his employees as of a week ago.

“Barnes,” Mr. Stark purred, turning to face the room. “Mr. Barnes here is going to be our newest errand boy!” He clapped his hands like an excited child, and there was a hum of amused chuckles around the room. Steve thought he saw a fist pump in the air from a man sitting in the back of the room. Worry filled him as Steve thought of Bucky’s arm, but before he could do anything, Mr. Stark said, “Sorry, Gerry. You’re gonna have to stay on the team and help with the heavy lifting. Most of it, actually; don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said to me on your first day because that’s never going to happen. Ever. Mr. Barnes!” he snapped. “I know you could bench press our wonderful Gerry, but I need you to make him do most of the work, capisce? So, even though it’s your first day, I’m promoting you to Senior Errand Boy. Congratulations! But, you are still an errand boy, Columbia.”

And then there was that swelling in Steve’s chest, warm and dizzying and constricting his every breath. Mr. Stark turned to him, and Steve saw a minuscule, barely-there shift in the man’s eyes as he looked at Steve. Blink and you’d miss it.

“And what’s your name, soldier?” he asked, voice going soft, quieting like it was only the two of them in the room.

Those eyes pinned him in place, and Steve wondered, hoped, prayed, that the man with the divine brown eyes and angelic smile was just as struck as he was. A name. A name shouldn’t seem like such a monumental thing to give.

Somehow, it was.

“Steve,” he said, and he hoped his voice didn’t come out as breathless as it sounded to his own ears. “Steve Rogers.” As he said his name, Steve saw the reel begin. What could be an entire lifetime flashed before his eyes. He wanted to laugh; ever the hopeful romantic, his mom and Bucky had always said, but there was a realness to this strong pull tugging him towards the man a few meager feet in front of him. Could see the flashes of a life he didn’t have but longed for more than anything.

He watched the scenes in his head the way a kid would a stick figure flipbook, and he wondered how he could make it a reality. Each scene, each drawing, singular and captivating, combining to create this entire story of Them. Of what could be.

Steve could see waking up with an armful of thin limbs and slipping out from underneath a warm body and a couple covers to start the coffee machine and maybe get a run in before the day started and they’d be forced to part ways. He could see holding a trembling body as newsfeeds spread something horrid and heartbreaking across millions of people’s screens. Could see being held in a tight embrace after a particularly difficult day where past and present blurred and left him near incoherent. See watching television on his old, lumpy couch and ignoring all that extra space to their right. Making a mess of the kitchen, but coming out with an edible feast for friends that were family. Asking to move in together with a golden key wrapped in a little, red box tied with a yellow bow. Looking for a ring and hearing a yes to his question even though he never got to finish because there was too much excitement. Standing in his uniform and saying, “I do.” Playdates at Natasha’s and Bucky’s house because they had the pool. Looking at colleges and attending weddings as Fathers of the Groom or Bride. Two rickety rocking chairs that Steve remembered from browned and torn photographs with softened edges holding a couple sitting in each one, reaching across the distance to hold hands in front of his childhood home. Chairs he would dig out of the storage unit he’d always refused to get rid of because he could never bring himself to throw away his parent’s things. Sitting those chairs on the deck of their home up in the mountains because it was time to escape the city and pass on their legacies to someone else. Taking a similar picture to pass down themselves.

In a manner of seconds, in flashes where Steve could taste the heat-slicked kisses, feel smoothened, soft skin beneath his searching hands, hear the vicious laughter, see the beginnings of crow’s feet… smell the cherries. Like a light, guiding him home, Steve was incapable of not following – he doubted there was much of a choice – because he hadn’t been home. Not in years. Not since his mom died.

“Steve,” Mr. Stark repeated, and Steve knew there was no way to mistake the delicateness in his tone. The way his name came out with breathy awe, said in a low way that made him wonder if anyone else heard it. Heard the way his name seemed to hitch over Mr. Stark’s tongue and roll off in one, fluid motion. Steve wondered how his name tasted. If it was good. If Tony Stark liked saying it as much as Steve liked hearing it because he’d never heard it said quite like that before. Mr. Stark cleared his throat, turning with tentative movements to face the room again. “And if you’ll all be so kind as to show Mr. Rogers the ropes. I…” he coughed, peaking at Steve before he continued. “I hear he’s got more talent and dedication than most.”

Mr. Stark moved away, then, and Steve had to push down the urge to follow. He stared after him nonetheless, ignoring the people walking up to greet and welcome them with kind smiles and heartfelt hellos.

Tony Stark turned back once, locking his gaze on Steve’s one last time. Steve let the soothing warmth of rightness inflate his body, making his skin tingle. He almost couldn’t breathe past it. Then the eyes were gone, going downcast towards the floor as Mr. Stark reached the door. Steve caught the smile, though, curving over those rosy lips, and the faint blush on tanned cheeks.

The feeling continued to swell as the door swung shut.

A hand clapped Steve’s shoulder, and he startled at the reminder that there were other people in the room. Bucky was looking at him, eyes darting around Steve’s face.

Steve couldn’t help it. He let out a loud laugh, tossing his arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

“What the hell was that?” Bucky asked, shaking his head, expression bewildered.

“You have to admit,” Steve said, not bothering to try and hide the grin that had broken out over his face. “He won that one. And you kind of deserved it,” he pointed out, feeling completely, utterly, insanely overjoyed all at once.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's part 1 of a series I never intended to exist, ahahahaha! ;)
> 
> Welp, what are ya gonna do? Too late now to go back now, so I hope everyone buckles in to enjoy this looooooong ride.
> 
> I hope you've all liked the fic, and if you have, please leave a comment and/or a kudos. You lovelies inspire me to write, and more than anything, I adore hearing all your amazing thoughts and opinions. Thank you so much for reading!!!
> 
> Also, a huge HUGE thank you to Starksnack for beta-ing this fic for me and helping me to iron everything out. Lots of love!!!
> 
> Also, if anyone's interested, here's the link to the song that inspired this fic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E9YwyfX33LU


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